Soaked to the Bone
by Kuro49
Summary: Herc/Chuck. The Hansens try to go on a roadtrip, keyword being try.


Written for day 5 of the Advent Calendar event on tumblr, and the kinkmeme prompt: **Herc/Chuck, wet!Hansens.** _I know I just posted one, but whatever. It just started raining really heavily here and it's made me crave some wet!Hansencest. Maybe their vehicle broke down and they're stranded and it's raining and whoever they call to come and get them is an hour away so... what to do with the time? The car's too cramped - they try it, it doesn't work - so what the hell, right? A little rain isn't going to kill them._

So it seems like it's been a while since I've posted anything here, exams are eating my brain, have some father/son lovin'. ;)

XXX

**Soaked to the Bone**

XXX

It's a mistake, they both subconsciously know it the very moment Chuck tosses their gear into the back and slams the trunk of the car shut just as Herc gets into the driver's seat.

Further into the outback, he will let Chuck take the wheel, teach the kid how to drive a stick shift with one hand on top of his, guiding as he coaches him just how to listen to the engine work itself into a purr. And if Chuck can jockey a Jaeger at sixteen, a worn old thing like this should be a breeze.

Not yet though.

Because that worn old thing has just broke down in the heart of nowhere. The two of them stranded in the midst of a downpour that the weather report last night has promised a long day of sunshine ahead of them, or at the very least something more akin to it being partly cloudy.

(Not that Chuck can remember much of last night aside from the fact that he had Herc's lips stretched around his cock, tongue pressed flat against the underside with just enough pressure to get him rocking shallowly into his old man's throat.)

No such luck though.

Because there is only an empty stretch of highway for miles on end, and for Jaeger pilots like them, they both know when to admit defeat when they prop the hood open to see acrid smoke that nearly has them tearing up in the rain.

Silver lining in the grey, grey clouds, at least there is still reception to their cells.

Only that the closest tow truck is a good hour away.

.

They have been sitting in the car for the last ten minutes, both of them itching beneath the skin. Chuck has Max in his lap, making weird faces out of the dog's with both hands cupped over those droopy cheeks. They still don't talk much but they try. They have always been more hands on, and if there are less fistfights and more belt buckles being undone in haste, well, that's not so bad either.

Herc glances out through the windows.

And sometimes, he misses the Conn-Pod, even the Mark Is with all their flaws (radiation cores not withstanding, hell, he is still taking the Metharocin even today), at least there is more than enough legroom.

Which can't be said for this rust bucket.

He lowers the window a slit, and the rain is dripping in but the little rush of fresh air is better than none. And then a little is not quite enough, he has a hand on the handle of the door—

"What are you doing?"

He glances over at Chuck, gives him a shrug and pushes his side of the door wide open. The rain no longer muted as he says, "getting out."

"What?" Chuck's hands still, Max's face looking weird as fuck from the way he keeps trying to get away from his human's self entertaining ways. "Are you _crazy_?"

"A little rain isn't going to kill you."

"Don't complain to me when you get sick!"

But still he follows Herc out into the rain, setting Max in the passenger's seat as he slams the door shut, not forgetting to have all the windows cracked open for his dog.

Chuck feels the rain immediately, cool against the stuffy heat of two too many people in one car. The asphalt is wet, puddles gathering where the roads aren't even. Chuck watches as Herc stretches his legs, pulls his arms over his head and back, shirt riding up a slit, just enough to see that the old man isn't wearing anything underneath those worn jeans of his.

He stares because how un-_fucking_-believable. Herc catches his gaze before letting out a low chuckle that goes straight to Chuck's cock.

"You're a bastard."

He bites back a low groan.

"Takes one to raise one, kid."

Chuck refuses to take the bait.

Herc turns away with a smirk, his dad's way of a challenge to a fight.

And Chuck refuses to bite.

.

They are soaked to the bone when he has him pressed against the side of the car. His fingers are a little cold and the rain is making his skin just a little numb, but the mouth opening against his is all welcoming, liquid heat.

Herc tastes like _him_.

And it nearly takes Chuck's all not to lean in and kiss the man until he is panting like he had him panting just last night.

"Are you going to return the favour?"

"…I'm not going to blow you on the side of the road, _dad_."

Herc looks at him, something almost like indulgence, and no, Chuck refuses to go down on him here. The wet tarmac against his knees, dad's soft, thin denim clenched in his hands as he takes him whole in one swallow, his nose burying in the ginger curls.

"No."

Herc grins, looking like he knows exactly what he is thinking.

And Chuck may be rolling his eyes but he is already running the flat of his palm against the zipper of those damned jeans, rubbing him through the material. They are pressed too close, leaving nothing to the imagination (not that the drift has left them with the resemblance of any).

"I'm burning these pants as soon as we get home."

"Go ahead," Herc drawls out, pushing off of the side of the car and into his son. "I've got more where this came from."

Chuck doesn't dignify him with a reply, just pops open the button and reaches in. His palm a slick slide against the wet trail of ginger hair until he has a hand wrapped around the base of Herc's cock, and if that doesn't shut him up, the biting kisses he is pressing against his dad's neck should.

He jerks him off, every rough slide in exchange with a soft, hot kiss against his jaw. Kisses him until he finds his lips once more, kisses him until his lips don't know how to go cold from the rain.

Chuck tastes the start of his name on the flat of his dad's tongue when he comes, spilling white over his hands on a ragged, sharp exhale. Herc's fingers clenching into Chuck's shoulders, lashes dripping with drops of rain.

Eyes closed, he kisses him through the trail ends of his orgasm until it's just the sound of his heartbeat in his ears.

Eyes closed as Herc drops his head back on the hood of the car, his hands don't untangle themselves from Chuck's shoulders, just pulls the boy with him until they are together in a loose embrace (because they don't do enough of that from before the war).

Chuck has his forehead resting in the crook of Herc's neck, breathes him in deep, tastes the trails of water over his skin. His dad cards a hand through the ends of his hair, brushes at the collar of his t-shirt that is nearly transparent from the rain.

It has never been the words they say.

It is always going to be the ones they don't know how to say.

They can barely see through the downpour but the honking and the dim yellow lights cutting through the haze come their tow truck. It is only then that they finally pull away from each other. But not quite before Chuck is reaching out to run his cum-stained hand over Herc's ass, rubs the white right into the back of Herc's jeans with a squeeze and a smirk.

It isn't payback.

But it isn't like he needed them anyway.

XXX Kuro


End file.
